


Veretian Style

by asmallwave



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmallwave/pseuds/asmallwave
Summary: “We did it your way when we fought,” said Laurent, his breath quickening.  His eyes were closed.  “We can do it my way now.”Or, Laurent's take on Akielon wrestling.





	Veretian Style

**Author's Note:**

> forgot that i wrote this a few weeks ago in a moment of pure self-indulgence

After a truly tedious few hours writing missives and reviewing scrolls, Damen looked up suddenly and realized that he hadn’t seen Laurent since that morning when they’d woken up together. He pushed back his chair and stretched, exiting the palace to search for him.

The stables at Marlas were small, but expanding, and Damen started there first, hoping to catch Laurent before or after a ride. He was nowhere to be found, so Damen moved onto the training arena.

There were a few soldiers fighting, glancing up uneasily as Damen drew nearer. Their camaraderie with Damen had changed since he became king. While they might have been willing to share a friendly round with him while he’d been prince, few were willing to readily come forward to fight their king.

No matter; Damen wasn’t looking for a fight today. He hadn’t gone far from the training yard before he nearly walked into Lazar, who was heading the other way.

“Exalted,” said Lazar, pausing. Damen nodded, and made to move on, when Lazar smiled and said, “They’re in there,” nodding toward the fighting ring, the one away from the armory where Damen and Nikandros would wrestle as boys.

Damen understood, and walked away without a second thought, leaving Lazar behind.

They aren’t nude, was Damen’s first thought. The second was that Laurent would never learn properly that way, and the third was that the second only mattered if Damen was teaching him. No one else.

There was a small audience here; nothing like out in the larger yard, but still a good few soldiers were watching Nikandros and Laurent fight.

They were both oiled, and Damen leaned against the wall and watched them move against each other, Laurent holding up a good fight.

For a strained few seconds they remained on their feet. Damen watched Laurent’s pale toes try to grasp for purchase in the dirt before he allowed Nikandros to bring him to his knees.

Laurent wasn’t bad; he’d begun to move beyond his beginner’s set, and was executing some more advanced techniques, but Nikandros still bested him easily. Afterwards they got up, and Damen watched Laurent adjust his skirt as Nikandros carefully walked him through a move, murmuring to him.

Laurent allowed Nikandros to move his arms in their proper position, then say something else. Laurent nodded, brow furrowed in concentration, and then they went again.

This time Laurent practiced the move correctly, and when they stood, Nikandros was smiling.

Damen came forward.

They both looked up as he approached, and Damen felt his face grow warm when Laurent smiled at him, and rocked forward, as though only just stopping himself from meeting Damen halfway.

“You’re getting better,” said Damen.

“I’m excellent,” said Laurent, adjusting his skirt again.

“He’s very good,” Nikandros agreed, slicking some of the oil from his arm and onto the ground.

“Show me how good,” Damen said, unpinning his chiton.

Nikandros retreated, and Laurent braced his stance, as though waiting for Damen to take him down right then.

“We should be nude,” said Damen, “in the Akielon style.” He was already undoing the tie at his waist.

He let the rest of the fabric drop, and then kicked it away. Laurent, easy to bait into a challenge, unwrapped his skirt and let it drop as well. 

There was a pot of oil nearby. Damen quickly covered himself, watching Laurent as he rubbed it into his arms and legs, across his chest and down his stomach.

They moved to the center of the ring together, meeting in the middle. Laurent put his hands on Damen’s arms, and Damen did the same. Nikandros was the one to say, “Fight,” and Damen’s body pushed against Laurent’s.

Laurent wasn’t excellent. Damen thought that Nikandros’ “very good” might even have been a stretch, though Damen was an accomplished wrestler who really was _excellent._

He allowed the fight to go on longer than he would have ordinarily, so as not to embarrass Laurent unduly, but Damen still beat him easily, pushing him into the dust and holding him there, tangled up together.

Laurent’s color was up when they stood again. A larger audience had gathered to watch their two kings fight.

During their second match, Damen decided not to hold back. He took Laurent down quickly, easily, and Laurent was looking vaguely annoyed when they stood again, his back covered from shoulder to thigh in dirt from being pinned twice.

Before Nikandros could call them to fight again, Laurent went to the pitcher and oiled himself down again.

Damen couldn’t stop himself from commenting, “That won’t help.”

Laurent’s expression turned supremely unconcerned, pretending he hadn’t heard him.

They fought again. This time, Laurent surged against him, hard enough for Damen to be put on his back for a moment. Damen wasn’t overly surprised; he had felt the rising need in Laurent to win, or at least put Damen in his place where he could.

Damen had just begun to execute a countermove when one of Laurent’s hands shifted, beginning to execute his own move that Damen had not experienced before; one of Laurent’s slick fingers sliding between his legs and then inside of him, all the way to the knuckle.

Damen’s hands slipped, his shock forcing a cough out, and then both of Laurent’s hands were on his shoulders, his ankles hooking around Damen’s thighs to hold him in place. Once Damen’s mind had returned to him, he tried to unseat Laurent and found that he couldn’t. He’d won.

Laurent’s eyes were glittering when he got to his feet. He held out a hand to help Damen up—the same hand that had been inside him a moment ago.

The soldiers around them were murmuring. Damen didn’t think they’d seen what exactly had happened, only that Laurent had beaten him.

“You cheated,” said Damen, perhaps unjustifiably indignant at the fact that Laurent wasn’t playing by the rules of sports. Though, Damen supposed, it was his own fault for ever believing that he would.

Regardless, Damen allowed Laurent to help him to his feet. 

“I won,” Laurent corrected, shifting back into position.

Damen took a moment to admire him, oiled up to his neck, dirt sticking to him in the most interesting places, including a smear of it across one cheek, and another than ran from hipbone to inner thigh.

When their gazes met again, Laurent smiled. Then Nikandros called for them to fight again.

This time, Damen minded Laurent’s hands, on numerous occasions stopping them before they tried to distract Damen any further. Even with having to split his attention between Laurent’s devious hands and Laurent attempting to execute difficult holds against him, Damen still beat him.

And then, as Laurent lay in the dirt, his legs managed to escape Damen’s hold, lifting and then closing around his back, his ankles hooked together. Damen felt Laurent’s thighs flex against his sides, and Damen found his body lowering closer.

Laurent’s words were a mimic of Damen’s earlier. “We should do it here,” he said, voice low, his body beginning to rock, rhythmically. “In the Veretian style.”

Damen attempted to lift away, but found that while he could easily leverage his upper body away from Laurent’s, if he lifted his hips, Laurent was so tightly wrapped around him that Laurent came with him.

Damen lowered them both to the ground, his head dropping forward as Laurent continued to move against him. It had been impossible for Damen not to rouse partially against Laurent while they sparred—impossible for him to be that close to Laurent’s nude, oiled body, and remain fully controlled. Now Laurent was trying his best to rouse him fully.

“Laurent,” Damen said, his eyes flicking upward. The audience was still there, now milling, either talking, or looking at them, or trying not to look.

“We did it your way when we fought,” said Laurent, his breath quickening. His eyes were closed. “We can do it my way now.”

Damen’s mind was splitting open. He could feel himself responding, rubbing against Laurent’s hardness, watching Laurent’s flush extend from his cheeks and down his neck.

_We should do it here._ The idea was impossible, but the thought of disengaging, of putting his clothes back on, of walking back through the palace to find somewhere private, seemed torturous. 

They were already oiled, their bodies sliding slickly together, and Damen knew that if he stayed in this position long enough, Laurent just there beneath him, they would both come like this.

Damen lifted his head. “Leave,” he said. “Now. All of you.”

Laurent’s answering laugh rumbled against Damen’s chest, but Damen ignored it in favor of leaning down to kiss Laurent on the mouth, gripping Laurent’s hips to move them tighter together as the shuffle of feet exiting the training yard grew steadily fainter.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~i’m just out to rehash all the same scenes everyone’s already thought about for 100000 years~~
> 
> thank you for reading!!


End file.
